


Daybreak

by Yulicia



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, M/M, Post-Dragonsong War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27179479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yulicia/pseuds/Yulicia
Summary: The Azure Dragoon, now freed from Nidhogg but not yet freed from his Infirmary bed, is visited by a fretting Lord Commander of the Temple Knights.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood
Comments: 5
Kudos: 64





	Daybreak

For a moment, Ishgard was quiet. From his room in the Infirmary Estinien can hear that the winds are calm, and that they do not howl nearly as much as they used to. Though the sky outside is cloudy it is not angry, only melancholy. It was the type of day that had you not drearily preparing for war, but sitting in front of a warm, lazy fire with a mug of hot chocolate. 

He wonders if the elements somehow know what has happened within the realm of dragon and man, and that this is why Ishgard’s day seems so at peace. 

His thoughts are soon interrupted by the sound of the door opening. With his feet planted against the ground as he sits upon the side of his Infirmary bed he hopes that his guest is not to be one of his healers, else he would be in for a scolding. He was told not to try to sit up for at least a day longer and here he was, already about to attempt to walk around. 

He has just grown so tired of lying prone. It reminds him too much of his entrapment in his own mind, even if the circumstances varied wildly. One cannot sway the instincts of the gut, nor that of the heart. 

Thankfully, it is not one of his healers, but Aymeric, who saw to surprise him with a visit. He knows that the Lord Commander has regularly come by, but he has not always been awake to greet him. Now he was not only awake, but Aymeric had come alone, and it was just the two of them, no distractions. 

“Ah, this is a surprise - though not an unwelcome one. I had not dared to hope the chirurgeon’s would allow you to be up so soon.”

“They haven’t,” Estinien grumbles. He stretches his arms up and hears his shoulders pop. “But I have grown weary of waiting around to heal.” 

He groans as he lifts himself on to his feet and Aymeric is by his side in a moment. He doesn’t remember Aymeric being quite so fast. 

“Estinien,” he warns. “You must be more careful.”

Estinien can only quietly laugh. “It is no wonder they made you Lord Commander. I think being a mother hen runs in your blood.”

Aymeric gives him a flat look. “And you have not changed either; you are just as stubborn as you have always been.”

“It gets me through the days, does it not?” Estinien says, and his voice is barely more than a whisper. “I daresay I would not be here were I not.”

Aymeric grows contemplatively silent. Estinien is sure his mind is going a malm a minute, but for now he is quiet. 

Estinien moves to take a step and, with shaky feet, does so. It… it honestly takes the wind out of him. He is plainly uncomfortable in how weak his fight against Nidhogg, and against the Warrior of Light, has made him. 

He does not have to dwell on the thought overlong as his mind is then replaced with the feeling of a steady presence beside him as Aymeric allows Estinien to rest almost all of his weight against him, moving him so that his arm is slung over the Lord Commander’s shoulder. Though he would never admit it, the support is appreciated.

“How are you feeling?” Aymeric asks, already fretting.

“Alive,” Estinien says, and he means it in the worst way possible. He knows he lives because he can feel pain, an ache running through his limbs to settle in his very core. 

“Full glad am I that you are.”

Estinien feels a smirk growing across his lips. “Such a worrier…”

Aymeric frowns. “You cannot honestly think to believe that there was no possibility that you could have perished upon the Steps of Faith.”

He doesn’t. He was honestly rather counting on it. He doesn’t quite know what to do with the extra life he has been given. But these are thoughts he would never voice - it would only worry Aymeric further. 

“I can still feel him, somehow,” Estinien says, and he’s not sure if those are the words he wanted to say. Nevertheless, the presses on, “I felt his rage dissipate, and I felt his anger leave me, but there’s still something… there. It’s like a fresh scar, or an open wound.”

“Does it hurt?” Aymeric asks. 

“Not particularly,” he says, and it doesn’t. “Not in the way one might think. It just feels empty.”

“Few things ache like the presence of a piece misplaced.”

Estinien knows what he means. He speaks of grief. Is he… grieving Nidhogg? He supposes that, in a way, he is, for he  _ is _ pained by the lack of the wyrms presence. And, maybe, he grieves for himself, too, wondering what both he and Nidhogg could have been had his ancient kin not taken up the lance against the dragon’s all those years ago. He mourns lost time, he thinks, for both his own family and those that he had once thought of nothing but bloodthirsty beasts. 

Aymeric shifts to hold his weight more comfortably, his arm wrapping around his back and his hand coming to rest against his waist. He can feel Aymeric’s hand rise and fall with the motion of his own breathing and it feels, somehow, like a connection. He thinks they might have always been like this. He runs himself ragged in his quest for revenge, and then, even subconsciously, he seeks comfort in the Lord Commander. 

He always thought that Aymeric was warm, an eternally glowing ember fit to melt even the harshest of Ishgardian snow, and he feels it now, that endless sunshine to block out the coldest and dreariest of days. He feels like a blizzard in comparison, and wonders why Aymeric does not flinch away at the very sight of him. 

He takes a step, and Aymeric takes a step with him. Aymeric is still holding most of his weight, and Estinien distantly wonders how his own wound has been healing. He wonders if he is hurting Aymeric. The Lord Commander doesn’t say anything but Estinien knew that when it came to his own pain he likely would not have anyway. 

Estinien’s chest aches for breath, and he’s only taken a few steps. He hates how his body feels. “Though it pains me to say it,” he breathes, “Mayhap the healers were correct in their assertions.”

He feels, rather than sees, Aymeric suck in a sudden breath. Estinien then feels himself guided to sit back against his bed. Once he is there he looks up to find concern written plainly across Aymeric’s face. He never was very good at concealing his true emotions - a very odd combination for a politician. Estinien supposes that might be why people flock to him, however, as it speaks of an air of authenticity. It is why Estinien… 

He’s hesitant on the next thought. He does not want to say that it is why he loves Aymeric. He cares for him deeply, and would have rather died than ever let harm befall him, but he has not loved in so long that it scares him. To love was to lose, and the thought of losing Aymeric filled him with a murky dread. 

But then Aymeric smiles, and all of those clouds fall away. His heart is quick and he can’t entirely blame it on his ailments. He finds himself smiling back, even if he doesn’t want to. 

He realises that this is one of the first moments in some time that he has had Aymeric’s time all to himself. He isn’t sure if he ever wants this moment to end. He realises that this is selfish, but he doesn’t particularly care. He could stand to be selfish. 

“They oft are,” Aymeric says, “Though I can hardly scold you. To think that not long ago they would have chained  _ me _ to the Infirmary if they only could.”

Estinien moves to reply but is then cut off by the sound of the door opening once more. This time it  _ is  _ one of the healers, and they immediately begin their tirade about how he should be laying down, and to not exert himself so harshly, and dozens and dozens of other logical things he really should have followed. 

“It seems you are in good hands, my friend,” Aymeric says. He then goes to leave but, even though he had not willed it, Estinien finds that his hand darts out to grab at Aymeric’s wrist. His grip is weak, and Aymeric could have easily pulled away, but he doesn’t. 

“Will you return?” Estinien asks, and hopes that Aymeric doesn’t pick up on the sudden nervousness in his words. He pushes it down with gruffness, but even he can hear how unsteady his voice is. 

“But of course,” Aymeric smiles, easy and free, just like it always was. “I shall need to make sure you are following the healers words.”

Estinien laughs. It feels nice to laugh, even if it makes his ribs hurt. 

“Take care, Estinien.”

And he would. If Aymeric willed it, he would. 


End file.
